


What Ails You

by Synchron



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22879384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchron/pseuds/Synchron
Summary: You're unwell. Vergil takes care of you.
Relationships: Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 151





	What Ails You

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote a few weeks ago that I left exclusively on tumblr, since 1) it isn't all that long nor is well fleshed out, since I wrote it while I was still a bit woozy and 2) it was just a very self indulgent little ficlet because I got sick and wanted to be taken care of 🤣🤣 But I figure posting all the tumblr-exclusive pieces I've written here is a better way to archive them, since... well, tumblr is tumblr, so here I am!!
> 
> Like I said, it's very short and not as detailed as my other work, but I hope you like this lil' fluffy piece nevertheless!! 🙏💖

Being sick is the worst. Although the nausea has passed, it's left you feeling feverish and queasy, lethargic and sluggish. The most you're able to do is flop around uselessly, which honestly feels like the only thing you've done in days. You can hear Vergil tut at you from your kitchen, frowning in displeasure at your curled up form on the couch. Though buried under blankets as you are, as comfortable and cozy as you are, lying around in front of the TV isn't adequate rest. You know this, because he's told you at least four times already.  
  
He tuts at you again, but louder this time so you can hear it. "Get back into bed."   
  
"No." If anything, his insistence makes you hunker down all the more, settling defiantly into soft sheets that were, in a bout of irony, gathered by Vergil himself. "I've been in bed for the past two days, I need a change of scenery."  
  
"Was the toilet not change enough for you?" Though Vergil's back is turned, you can hear the smile in his voice. Unbeknownst to you, it pulls ever wider when he hears a rustle of sheets as you twist on the couch to squint at his back. Not that it lasts too long when he has that ridiculous apron tied around him.  
  
You huff at him. "That was different, and you know it!" But thinking back on it, you appreciated him shepherding you back and forth between your bed and the bathroom, the soothing hand rubbing at your back when you wretched into the toilet, his gentle voice behind you telling you to relax and just let it all come.  
  
You also remember trying to croak out a "that's what she said" between heaving, but you'd just ended up with your face back in the bowl as you threw up into it again.  
  
That night was the very definition of inelegant, and was perhaps the lowest that Vergil had seen you. Yes, it was perhaps even worse than the one time he stumbled in on you and Dante wearing those inflatable sumo wrestler suits (Vergil had pretended he'd forgotten something, and done a complete and very prompt one-eighty out the door). But his presence at your side through the worst of your bout with food poisoning stands as a testament to how he feels about you, even when you were a heaving, wretching mess at the mercy of your toilet. His work through that night was tireless, offering you a glass of water after each trip to the bathroom to ensure you kept hydrated, tucking you neatly back into bed even though you'd be getting back up again in an hour to shuffle back to the bathroom… you think you remember the distinct feeling of his lips pressing into your temple too, but you can't be sure.  
  
When morning came, he looked no worse for wear.  
  
Although the same couldn't be said of you.  
  
You hear the click of the stove as Vergil switches it off, pulling the apron up and off of his body to drape it over the kitchen counter before he pads over to you, blocking your view of the TV with his body. It's your turn to frown, but before you can voice an argument, he clambers over you, literally steps right over your body to wedge himself between the back of your couch and you.  
  
The next minute is nothing but the gentle rustle of sheets and blankets as Vergil situates himself under them, pressing his warm body right up against your back and folding you comfortably into his arms, an impenetrable barrier to further protect you from your ails. Nestling further into your little cocoon, you hide a smile in the blanket, and when you feel a familiar press of something against your temple, you let out a content sigh.  
  
Maybe getting sick isn't so bad.


End file.
